


the storm and the girl

by alephnull



Category: All the Wrong Questions - Lemony Snicket, Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Introspection, One-Shot, Relationship Study, can be interpreted as romantic if you want, post-ATWQ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 13:17:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10438542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alephnull/pseuds/alephnull
Summary: Lemony Snicket is a storm. Moxie Mallahan is a girl whose life’s course has been forever changed by said storm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> prompt from anonymous on [tumblr](https://kitsnxcket.tumblr.com/post/158817697531/1-for-moxie-mallahan)

Silence stretches out, almost comforting in its tranquillity. Snicket, the enigma who entered Stain’d-by-the-Sea seemingly ages ago was walking away from the place which he had changed forever. Stormy eyes blended in with the dark scenery, watching the boy’s feet leave imprints in the crunchy layer of seashells before they fell again, covering up the footprint. Nobody spoke, and Moxie was almost okay; she was almost calm, because she did not have to do anything. She could just stand there for once, take it all in. It was okay.

“That was…”

Blonde, short hair turned around for Moxie look at the dazed countenance of Kellar Haines.

“Eventful?” Moxie suggested.

Nobody else spoke for a long time, the only sounds being occasional sighs, every now and then some person seeming to come to a conclusion and quietly walking away, and the soft _crunch_ of seashells underfoot.

> Moxie and Lemony were sitting on the same seat in the library—it was no big deal, for the chairs were spaced apart and large enough for a sizeable adult—reading a book so ridiculous that even the solemn Lemony would laugh on occasion. Their forearms were touching, squashed against each other—their heads too—and aside from their voices taking it in turn to read and their laughter every now and then, no jarring sounds pierced the peaceful atmosphere.
> 
> The writing was terrible, but it made for a good laugh and a good afternoon. Despite everything that the mysterious Snicket boy had brought with him, these were the moments Moxie remembered and missed most when she occasionally reflected on that time she had met a twelve-year-old by the name of Lemony Snicket.

“I’m leaving,” was the next sentence to be spoken at the, quite literal, trainwreck. Emerald green eyes and midnight tresses and curious eyebrows curved like a question mark: she was as much of an enigma as her appearance. Her voice was soft and carried contemplation, as if she was trying to solve a difficult maths problem.

Everyone turned to look at the girl, but nobody replied and she did not seem to leave. Rather, she entered the derailed train carefully, and nobody had to ask where she was going.

> “You saw a wild goose?” Lemony remarked.
> 
> “You’re mildly a moose?” Pip shot back.
> 
> All Moxie did was roll her dark grey eyes. This game Snicket had made was completely lunatic, and it made her want to punch the boys in the throat sometimes, but, somehow, it was almost endearing. She knew that she should not trust Lemony entirely when he had appeared so out of the blue, but when he acted so normally, it was hard to see him as anything but a friend.
> 
> “Shut up and get a move on,” she managed, preparing herself for the inevitable _‘hut’s up and jet fuel’s on?’_

Ornette managed to approach Moxie to hold her hand, tracing her thumb in circles on the back of Moxie’s hand for comfort. The girls made eye contact, silently having a conversation the way only some good friends could do.

“You know… He did try to help, Moxie. Don’t hate him.”

“I know that,” Moxie replied curtly. She didn’t want to talk about him. At a time like this, when so much was in ruins, Ornette wanted to talk about _him_?

> As he was about to leave, Moxie grabbed Lemony by the shoulder, their eyes meeting.
> 
> “Lemony.”
> 
> “Moxie.”
> 
> “Snicket, explain how a fragmentary plot will help. If one of us gets caught, why do you think that we’ll rat out the entire plan?”
> 
> He seemed to pause momentarily, as if pondering her question.
> 
> “Moxie… There are certain substances which will make you more inclined to tell the truth. There are so many more which can manipulate your brain to do whatever the giver wants you to. It’s like… like, you’re a box and once someone finds you, they only need the right key.”
> 
> “Thanks, Snicket, for calling me a _box_.”
> 
> “It’s an analogy.”
> 
> Rolling her eyes, Moxie retorted, “Well, I won’t get caught. Couldn’t you at least tell be a bit more about what the hell all this is leading to?”
> 
> “No,” he replied firmly. “I’ve been trained in this. I know what I’m doing.”
> 
> “And why should I trust your elusive education when I know nothing about it?”
> 
> “Because you trust me.”

Somewhere down the line, Moxie must have come to the realisation that she could not stay there forever. She would have to move, to go back home, to reassure her father that she was okay. She would have to continue to wait for that letter from her mother (if it would ever come) and hope that there was business in invisible newspapers, with Cleo’s in-progress formula.

Cleo had just joined the trio in their loose cluster, and they were all arm’s length from each other. Moxie extended her hand to Cleo, and Cleo extended her hand to Jake Hix, another associate who had followed Cleo to Moxie’s side. Jake then held Kellar’s hand, and Kellar, Ornette. They formed a messy chain of friends in the mute landscape as the first hints of dawn lit up the otherwise violet sky.

“It’s always darkest before dawn,” Ornette quoted. The group knew the silliness of the proverb, but now did not seem the time to be complaining about clichés.


End file.
